I like to write junk...

WRIT RATS

“It’s a traditional style rooted in legal writing that aims to avoid confusion, though for most people, it can sound overly formal, sometimes redundant, and confusing.”

Why is it that most career politicians in Washington are lawyers, yet local politicians come from all walks of life? It seems many of these career politicians who are lawyers never worked as attorneys after graduating from law school.

They started running for office immediately after getting their diplomas. There’s something fishy here, and I can’t quite put my thumb on it, or is that finger?

Another puzzling thing regarding law is why are some legal terms impossible to understand? Habeas corpus is one such definition. I had to seek help in understanding it, and even that didn’t totally help.

Habeas corpus is a legal writ requiring said person under arrest to be brought before the court or before a judge, especially to secure said person’s release unless lawful grounds are shown for their detention.

That’s all fine, but further confusion is added to the fire by the use of the words writ and said. More clarification is needed here before the full meaning of Habeas corpus becomes crystal clear to me, which never happens.

When I think of writ, Washington-Rats-In-Training comes to mind, then a Rooster Cogburn line from “True Grit.” In this 1968 Western movie, Rooster Cogburn (John Wayne) corners a giant rat in a Chinese restaurant while telling the cornmeal thieving creature in legal jargon,

“Mister Rat, I have a writ here says you’re to stop eatin’ Chin Lee’s cornmeal forthwith. It’s a rat writ, writ for a rat, and this is lawful service of the same.”

My online dictionary says that a writ is a formal written order issued by a court or other legal authority. It commands the said recipient to perform or refrain from performing a specific act. Writs are commonly used in legal proceedings to enforce rights, ensure compliance with the law, or provide remedies for said individuals.

The word “said” is used frequently in legal documents to refer back to a person, item, or concept already mentioned earlier in the text. This repetition helps maintain clarity and precision, ensuring there is no ambiguity about what or whom the document is referencing.

It’s a traditional style rooted in legal writing that aims to avoid confusion, though for most people, it can sound overly formal, sometimes redundant, and confusing.

Based on the bewildering language alone, it appears that some politicians study law before running for Washington, DC, positions so they are well prepared to write hocus-pocus bills aimed at confusing constituents like you and me. These are the real writ rats of our society.

Former President Bill Clinton enters the picture after he skillfully decimated the word “is” while undergoing grand jury testimony for his supposed sexual misconduct with Monica Lewinsky. Clinton used semantics to perfection, even though most Americans knew he was guilty of wrongdoing.

I’ll stop short by saying that not all Washington politicians are bad apples. There are good and honest people in the office, but it seems that the majority don’t wear the same shoes. It appears the bulk of those wrongdoers are habitual liars. To me, there’s nothing worse than a lying, writ-rat politician holding public office.

Perhaps the time’s right for someone to have them arrested and to issue Habeas corpus, so that we, the people, can see them try to wiggle their way out of trouble, as Bill Clinton did. That will be more entertaining to watch than the halftime show at our last Super Bowl.

Those politicians who are successful will be recipients of the prestigious Writ Rat Award. I’m told by unreliable sources that Bill Clinton proudly displayed his on the fireplace mantle before Hillary angrily tossed it in the can. Thankfully, ‘Slick Willy’ fished it out, and the trophy is now kept in a safe place known only to him and Chelsea.

GREAT WHITE HUNTER

“Things got strange that night, with this adult asking Jeff to give him a massage, and then asking me”

One of the things I asked residents when first visiting Arizona was, “Have you ever seen a rattlesnake while hiking?” Although I’d lived in Alabama and Texas, and these states had unique species of rattlesnakes, thankfully, I never came across one.

I did encounter a water moccasin in Soapstone Creek near Selma, Alabama, as a kid. It was coming after me until an adult yanked my body to safety. A bite from a water moccasin can be deadly.

The number one question after many years in Alaska is, “Did you hunt and fish?” The answer to that has always been quite short when it comes to hunting, with me saying yes, I did when I was younger.

I never went into detail, although the three hunts I went on are most unusual. I doubt any seasoned Alaskan hunter, or Arizonaan for that matter, can top them for strangeness!

My first hunt was in 1968. It entailed six of us loading into a car during winter, with our rifles, some snacks, a few sodas, and no real survival gear. The hunting crew consisted of me, my brother, friends Bob Malone and Chuck Staley, Dad, and his coworker. Sixpack comes to mind here because there were six of us packed into the old man’s 1965 Ford Galaxie.

Driving through the night, in the early-morning hours just as the sun was rising, near Eureka, we came across a large herd of caribou. With other hunters scaring them away, Dad’s friend suggested that we drive up around a bend, hoping the animals would reappear. He was correct in his analysis.

Quickly pulling out his 30.06 semiautomatic Remington from the trunk, my father popped several rounds off before the rest of us could get to our guns. He managed to down two. The bulk of the morning was then spent skinning them and loading them into the car.

Some of the meat was strapped to the roof, with the attachment rope tied inside the vehicle after being looped through partially open windows. This all took place in under 24 hours. It was not your typical Alaskan hunting trip, and undoubtedly would be considered illegal these days.

Hunt number two was also in 1968, but in the fall, not winter. I was 14 at this time. A good friend, Jeff Cloud, was asked to go on a sheep-hunting trip by what I believe was a family relative, perhaps an uncle. I can no longer recall the guy’s name.

Jeff invited me to tag along with the man’s approval. We drove to Knik River near Palmer with a lightweight aluminum canoe and motor. The boat was in the back of this man’s pickup along with the outboard.

Driving along an old road or trail as far back as we could, the canoe was offloaded and placed in the water. Having no life vests, the three of us climbed in and began a slow journey upriver, stopping at what I believe was Jim Creek. From there, we either rode in or pushed this vessel as far as we could, much of it through muck and swamp, until we could go no longer.

Hiking from that point on, several miles, we eventually set up camp and prepared to strike out early the next morning for some mountain peaks. Things got strange that night, with this adult asking Jeff to give him a massage, and then asking me. We both pretended to be asleep and didn’t hear him.

Evidently, our rebuff angered this fellow, because when we woke up, he was crass and mean toward us. After eating a light breakfast of Pop-Tarts and soda, we started hiking once again.

Several hours later, we came upon a bull moose, with Jeff’s supposed uncle downing him with one shot. A second round was fired just to make sure. This caught me off guard because I believed we were hunting solely for sheep.

Successfully skinning the creature, darkness came fast, with wind off the Knik Glacier chilling us to the bone. Without our tent or sleeping bags, that night was spent trying to keep a fire going and attempting to stay warm under the man’s emergency blanket.

Remembering what had happened the previous day, Jeff and I reluctantly lay side by side with this fellow, while his four-foot-by-five-foot quilted-aluminum blanket barely afforded us protection. It was either endure that or suffer hypothermia as my teeth were chattering.

Sometime during the night, we were awakened by bears trying to get the meat. Two of them were evidently fighting over who got first dibs. They were fiercely roaring at one another. Firing a few shots into the air to scare them off, a rope was then used to pull the moose meat high into a tree. That worked, but I never slept the rest of the evening.

As if that wasn’t the worst of it, after backpacking this heavy meat back to the boat, we loaded it in, once again pulling the loaded dinghy through swamp and muck. Finally arriving at the Knik River, dog-tired, the three of us climbed in, water coming up to the gunwales. That’s the top of the vessel for those unfamiliar with boat lingo. Miraculously, we made it to the truck.

Jeff’s uncle never said a word to us on the drive home, which was fine with me. I never saw him again and didn’t want to. I also never received any meat, despite the labor I gave forth in hauling it out. That was fine as well, because to this day I dislike the taste of moose. Give me a ribeye steak from a Texas steer any day.

Hunt number three, and my last, took place in the winter of 1973. It was January, with my brother and I planning to go on a caribou hunt in Nabesna, Alaska, using my 1954 Chevrolet to get there.

We jointly owned a Rupp snowmachine, but since we had no trailer to haul it, we rented one from a local tool dealer. Piling everything that we needed into this car and hitching up our trailer to the bumper, we set off for Nabesna, some 300 miles away.

Very close to our destination, Jim looked back and noticed smoke coming from one side of the trailer. Stopping to take a look, one of the trailer wheel bearings had gone bad. Tearing things apart, we attempted to remedy the problem by using a soda can as a shim. It worked for about three miles before failing.

With it well below zero, snowing, and no traffic on the highway at that time of the year, we decided to unhook the trailer and ditch it. My brother drove the snowmachine while I followed. We eventually made it back to Tok, where we got a needed motel room.

Leaving the Rupp there, a trucker we met in a local café offered to pick up our rental trailer and bring it to Tok for free. Driving back to Anchorage and getting a larger trailer, we headed back to Tok, loaded up both the snowmachine and the first trailer, and eventually made it to Anchorage.

All in all, we drove 1200 miles in an antique car, in inclement weather, for nothing other than memories. That was my final hunting trip, where attempting to kill an animal was involved.

These days, I do my meat hunting at a supermarket meat counter, and my wild game hunting using a camera. I find the framed photos of a Dall sheep and a huge Alaskan wolf on my living room wall, taken by renowned photographer Eric Anderson, much more eye-appealing than the dust-laden heads of both creatures, stuffed with polyurethane, foam, and resin.

As my three hunting stories make clear, I’m not a great white hunter like the fearless, dashing individuals portrayed in early Hollywood movies. I’d much rather write about the animals I’ve seen rather than those I killed, which amounts to none. For those folks who do like to hunt, to each their own. I’ll continue my big-game hunting through the lens of a Nikon.

EVERY KINDA PEOPLE

“It’s easy to take sides and forget that God expects us to love instead of hate our adversaries.”

One of my favorite pop songs is “Every Kinda People” by Robert Palmer. This tune came out in 1978, the year our first child, Gunnar, was born. That makes it even more memorable. A few of the lyrics go like this,

“It takes every kind of people

To make what life’s about

Every kind of people

To make the world go round.”

My mom often told me that it takes all kinds of people to make the world go ’round—long before Robert Palmer ever put words to song. Andy Fraser is the songwriter here, yet he’s not the progenitor of the phrase. I had to research to see where Palmer, Fraser, and Mom picked things up.

Spanish writer Miguel de Cervantes coined the saying in 1615, using it in his literary masterpiece, “Don Quixote,” widely regarded as the greatest fictional work of all time.

I’m not sure my mother read Miguel’s masterpiece, yet perhaps she encountered the phrase after hearing a minister use these words in a sermon. They do have some Biblical association, as you can see in Revelation 7:9.

This verse describes a vision of an innumerable, diverse multitude from every nation, tribe, people, and language, standing before God’s throne and the Lamb. Clothed in white robes and holding palm branches, they celebrate victory and celebration.

I’m not sure Miguel de Cervantes or Robert Palmer planned for these words to be spiritual, but they are to me, as they were to Mom. I listen to the lyrics in all songs and often find them having Christian undertones. “You Raise Me Up” by Josh Groban is a good example, along with “Crystal Blue Persuasion” by Tommy James & the Shondells.

The current world situation has got me thinking about this, as it seems nations, tribes, ethnic groups, political groups, different religious factions, and even families are more at odds with each other than ever before, with Satan undoubtedly stirring the pot.

It’s easy to take sides and forget that God expects us to love our adversaries rather than hate them. I’ll admit that it’s been a little tough for me here lately. It’s more like despise than hate, especially towards those insiders trying to tear our country apart. More on that at a later time.

What the future brings to this arena is also puzzling, as AI, or artificial intelligence, is becoming so advanced that it’s hard to distinguish real people from fake ones on the internet.

Phony, professionally-made social media videos have good people supposedly saying bad things, and bad people uttering just the opposite. This realistic hocus-pocus can confuse folks to the point that they begin making bad decisions based on flawed knowledge. I’m thinking foremost of voting here.

It takes all kinds of people to make the world go ’round, but it doesn’t include these AI-generated video clones or AI-propelled humanoids seen in commercials. If technology keeps up its pace, there’ll come a day when electronic, mechanised robots will be so human-like that they’ll begin talking to one another. “How ya doin’, Vince?” “I’m feelin’ a bit banged up, Larry, but I’ll be okay, how ’bout you?”

I can visualize down the road someone applying for a license to marry a bot. That’s a scary thought, but quite possible in this day and age, when people try to wed their pets.

I’ve yet to see a group of humanoid characters walking down the sidewalks of McCulloch Boulevard, wearing cowboy hats and boots, looking to have a good time.

Thankfully, we haven’t reached that point, or have we? A friend jokingly told me that in rural New Mexico, Texas, and Oklahoma, unlike our state, strange things aren’t always publicized!

1972 – A Space Oddity

“Subtract 1972 from 2026, and you end up with 54.”

I’m coming up on my 72nd birthday in April, so I decided to look back on 1972 and see what was going on. As a high school graduate in 1972 and a “numbers guy,” I found several numerical oddities from that year that pertain to me.

Subtract 1972 from 2026, and you end up with 54. This is a number in the year I was born (1954). Take seven and two (72), and you get nine, the day I was born. What does this all mean in the big scheme of things? Absolutely nothing, other than it’s an entertaining way of challenging my brain.

Plenty of interesting events happened in 1972, and I’ll highlight just a few:

Watergate Scandal Begins: On June 17, 1972, five men were arrested for breaking into the Democratic National Committee headquarters at the Watergate complex in Washington, D.C. This event marked the beginning of the Watergate scandal, which would ultimately lead to President Richard Nixon’s resignation.

The Munich Olympics Attack: In September 1972, Palestinian terrorists from the group Black September attacked the Olympic Village in Munich, Germany, killing 11 Israeli athletes and coaches. The tragedy brought global attention to terrorism and security at international events.

Pioneer 10 Launch: NASA launched Pioneer 10 on March 2, 1972. It became the first spacecraft to travel through the asteroid belt and the first to make a direct flight to Jupiter.

First Handheld Scientific Calculator: Hewlett-Packard introduced the HP-35, the first handheld scientific calculator, ushering in a revolution in mathematics and engineering. Why didn’t they develop this three years sooner?

The Godfather Released: Francis Ford Coppola’s film “The Godfather” premiered in March 1972 and quickly became one of cinema’s most influential films. I’ve never watched it fully.

First Episode of M*A*S*H: The TV series “M*A*S*H,” based on the Korean War, aired its first episode in September 1972 and became a cultural phenomenon.

Last Apollo Moon Mission: Apollo 17 launched on December 7, 1972, marking the final manned mission to the moon. Watched that on a black-and-white television with my dad.

Munich Summer Olympics: Despite the tragic attack, the Munich Games continued. American swimmer Mark Spitz won seven gold medals.

I found several other noteworthy events happening in 1972 that pertain to the states that I’ve lived in. Alabama Governor George Wallace was paralyzed when an attempted assassin fired shots from a revolver, striking his spine.

The University of Alabama Crimson Tide was upset in the “Iron Bowl” by the Auburn Tigers. Trailing 16-0 in the fourth period, Auburn blocked two punts, running them in for touchdowns to seal the win. That ended the Crimson Tide’s 1972 unbeaten season under Coach “Bear” Bryant.

Alaska Congressman Nick Begich Sr. and House Majority Leader Hale Boggs, along with their pilot, were lost on a flight from Anchorage to Juneau in 1972. Their small twin-engine Cessna airplane has never been found. Later that year, the Alaska Native Land Claims Act was finally passed after many years of negotiating.

1972 was indeed a significant year, and 2054 may be the same. I’ll turn 100 at that point, and in celebration, hopefully equal my age in speed with a modified, hydrogen-powered mobility device.

Hey, it doesn’t hurt for seniors to still dream. The great explorer, Colonel Norman Vaughan, always said, even when he reached 99, “Dream big and dare to fail!” I’ve always tried to follow his advice.

HANKINS

“The surname Hankins is a family name with deep historical roots, primarily found in English-speaking countries.”

Digging into one’s family history can be both interesting and challenging at the same time. I was interested enough, early on, to ask my grandparents about their kin, but unfortunately, I didn’t retain it all. Thanks to modern genealogy research tools and old newspapers, I’m able to fill in some blanks, going all the way back to 1420.

I did a good amount of investigating on my own, but the majority of this digging was actually performed by my late Aunt Dora Hankins-Guyton, as she traveled to courthouses and old libraries to track information down. Thankfully, she passed this data along to my brother and me. Dora was helped by other relatives, including my Cousin Pat Wheeler-Smith.

The surname Hankins is a family name with deep historical roots, primarily found in English-speaking countries. Understanding the origins and evolution of the name Hankins provides insight into genealogy, migration patterns, and cultural history.

Hankins is generally considered to be of English origin. The name is a patronymic form, derived from “Hankin,” which itself is a diminutive of the Middle English personal name “Han” or “Hank.” The suffix “-kin” was commonly added in medieval England to indicate “little” or “son of,” so “Hankin” would mean “little Han” or “son of Han.” Over time, the patronymic “-s” was added, forming “Hankins,” which denotes “son of Hankin.”

The name Hankins began to appear in written records in England during the Middle Ages, especially in regions such as Gloucestershire, Warwickshire, and London. Surnames became increasingly necessary as populations grew and communities expanded, helping to distinguish individuals with common given names.

During the 17th and 18th centuries, bearers of the surname Hankins migrated to North America, Australia, and other parts of the British Empire, spreading the name further afield. In the United States, the name became established and can be found in census and vital records dating back to colonial times.

Variants of the surname include Hankin, Hankinson, Hankins, and Hanks. These names share similar origins and often appear in historical records in overlapping regions.

Today, the surname Hankins is most commonly found in the United States, the United Kingdom, Canada, and Australia. In the U.S., it is especially prevalent in the southern and midwestern states.

While not as common as some other surnames, Hankins has maintained a steady presence in public life, with bearers contributing to a variety of fields, including sports, academia, literature, and the arts.

The first Hankins in my direct line is William Hankins. Born in England in 1420, he died there at a relatively young age in 1460.

Reverend Thomas Hankins was the Vicar of Dymocke in the Church of England. Born in 1462, he died in 1538. Buried in England.

John Hankins was born in 1515. He died in 1597 in England.

William Hankins was born in 1545 in England, with the exact date of his death unknown. Buried in England.

William Daniel Hankins was born in 1565 and passed away in 1619. Buried in England.

Thomas William Hankins lived in England. He was born in 1590 and died in 1639. Buried in England.

Charles Richard Thomas Hankins is the first of my kin mentioned as being in America. Born in Berkshire, England, in 1610, he most likely came here around 1630. He died in Monmouth, New Jersey, in 1692.

Richard Hankins. Born in Virginia in 1652, he died in New Jersey in 1749.

Thomas John Hankins. Born in 1700, he died in 1748. Buried at the Hankins Cemetery in New Market, Tennessee.

Richard Hankins. Born in 1733, he died in 1800. Buried in the Hankins Cemetery in Lamar County, Alabama.

John Alvin Hankins. 1775 – 1843. Buried in Old Hankins Cemetery in Lamar County.

Stephen Green Hankins. Born in 1805, he had 13 children via two wives. Three of his eight sons died in the American Civil War. Stephen had a large plantation and owned slaves. After the war, he set them free and gave each a portion of land. Stephen died in 1870. Buried at Oakes Cemetery in Lamar County.

Shelby Allen Hankins. 1849 – 1922.

James Burton Hankins. 1869 – 1952. A deeply religious man, I was told by my parents that he often preached at a small church in Lamar County, Alabama. James died two years before I was born.

Houston Alexander Hankins (my initial grandfather on a list of 15). My father’s father. 1900 – 1966. Buried in Lamar County.

I have so much more information on our family, but I wasn’t trying to write a book here. On a side note, there was a time when I thought I was the only Michael Hankins in the US. Turns out there are 264 of us.

ETERNITY

“Eternity is a profound and complex idea that touches upon time, existence, and the infinite.”

Thirty years ago, a friend and coworker told me that if his pals went to hell, he wanted to end up there, too. This guy was extremely upset that a buddy passed away so young. Evidently, he felt that hell was where his pal had gone.

Being a weak Christian where testimony is concerned, I had no reply after hearing him say that, although I did meekly mention that life after death means spending eternity in either heaven or hell, and there’s no in between.

When I attempt to think of eternity, my brain basically shuts down, unable to fathom ‘life never ending.’ There’ve been many nights when I lay awake in bed contemplating this, with me always having to shut the thought process down without fear of blowing a tube. The best analogy I can come up with is an alarm clock having no hands.

Older brains like mine have tubes, like TVs and radios once did, while I believe it was in 1962 that transistors, diodes, chips, and microprocessors came along. I’m joking here, of course. I don’t have the slightest inkling of how our brains work, with electronics being the easiest comparison.

With the definition of eternity impossible for me to explain, once again I turned to Miss Purdy, my artificial intelligence helpmate. I’ve leaned a lot on her lately, only because she’s quick on the draw in coming up with answers. Purdy’s concise definition of eternity took some time for me to digest all of the philosophical facts she spewed forth.

“Eternity is the concept of infinite or unending time. It is often described as a state that exists beyond temporal limits—unaffected by beginnings, endings, or any measurable duration. Unlike ordinary time, marked by seconds, minutes, hours, and years, eternity transcends such divisions and is often considered timeless.

The word “eternity” comes from the Latin “aeternitas,” meaning everlasting or perpetual existence. Throughout history, philosophers, theologians, and poets have used the term to refer to the perpetual nature of existence, the infinite, and the immortal. In ancient philosophical traditions, eternity was often contrasted with the finite nature of human life.

In philosophy, eternity is sometimes discussed as an attribute of certain truths, beings, or values that are unchanging. For example, some thinkers believe that mathematical truths or abstract concepts are eternal.

In religious contexts, eternity commonly refers to the everlasting nature of the divine, the soul, or the afterlife. Many faiths depict eternity as the realm beyond death, where existence continues without end. John 3:16 tells us that in so many words.

In everyday language, people often use “eternity” to describe something that feels incredibly long or endless, such as waiting for a long period. Phrases like “it took an eternity” are hyperbolic ways of expressing impatience or the perception of time passing slowly.

Eternity is a profound and complex idea that touches upon time, existence, and the infinite. Whether considered from a philosophical, religious, or everyday perspective, the concept invites reflection on the nature of reality, the limits of human experience, and the possibility of something beyond the finite world we know.”

Telling someone with deep Biblical knowledge, years later, about my friend saying that he wanted to go to hell, because he evidently felt people he was close to all went there, this person told me the words I should’ve used back then. It was blunt and to the point.

“Do you know without question that your pal went to hell, because he could’ve changed his mind and accepted Jesus Christ as savior mere seconds before his heart stopped? If you don’t know that for sure, then you may very well end up in a dark and hot place for the rest of your life with complete strangers. Eternity is a very long time, you know!”

It’s much too late for me to bring this up again, since the person who needed to hear it has since passed away. Still, I often wonder whether he might’ve changed his mind at some point, although he never told me. I hope he did.

A pastor once told our congregation that many ‘guys’ somehow believe that hell will be one big party, with kegs of beer and good old boys tossing footballs. I tend to think that my late friend was one of those believers.

I will say this for my own soul. If all of my family and friends chose hell, they’d best say their goodbyes to me before leaving, because this kid ain’t gonna be there.

It’s hot enough in Havasu four months out of the year, without electing to spend a lifetime in a place without water or air conditioners, enduring the same!

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION

“The language and some of the frames in the original film have now been edited to make it less offensive.”

Several years ago, I wrote a story titled “Car Guy.” It basically detailed my life as a gearhead, this being what car aficionados are often called. Lake Havasu City is filled with these people, with more hot rods per capita than anywhere in the US. That’s one of the reasons my wife and I moved here, besides the blue skies and sunny weather.

Deciding to write another short automotive-related story, this piece is more in line with my two favorite car movies, “American Graffiti” and “Vanishing Point.”

Both movies premiered in 1971 and 1973, and 1972 was the year I graduated from high school. It’s hard to believe both films are well over 50 years old, and still very popular; each is a cult classic.

In the film “American Graffiti,” Bob Falfa, played by Harrison Ford, wrecks his car during a climactic drag race. The wreck occurs when Falfa races against John Milner, the reigning local street racer. Bob Falfa, no relation to Al, pushes his car too hard in an attempt to beat Milner.

As the race nears its end, Falfa loses control, causing his car to crash, flip over, and burn. The primary reason for the wreck is Falfa’s aggressive driving and desire to prove himself as the fastest racer, which leads him to take risks beyond his skill or the car’s capabilities.

This crash also serves as the film’s dramatic turning point, underscoring the themes of recklessness, youth, and the fleeting nature of bravado and competition. Both Bob Falfa and his passenger, Laurie Henderson, survive the accident. Laurie quickly decides at this point that Falfa is a loser in both life and the street race.

The late actress Cindy Williams plays Laurie Henderson, Steve Bolander’s girlfriend. Ron Howard plays Steve; Paul Le Mat plays John Milner; and Richard Dreyfuss takes on the role of Curt Henderson, Laurie’s brother. Candy Clark is a blonde bimbo named Debbie Dunham.

Charles Martin Smith perfectly portrayed a nerdy character nicknamed Terry “The Toad” Field. The late Wolfman Jack and Suzanne Somers are also in the movie. The real stars of this show are the cars, especially the yellow ’32 Ford Deuce Coupe and black ’55 Chevy.

There were two stars in “Vanishing Point”: the late actor Barry Newman, who played Jimmy Kowalski, a former racecar driver and cop. His co-star was a 1970 Dodge Challenger R/T with a 440 Magnum, 4-speed.

The central plot in “Vanishing Point” was Kowalski attempting to deliver his new Challenger to San Francisco from Denver in 15 hours, under the influence of speed, both in pill form and horsepower-induced. Had it not been for two D-8 Caterpillars deliberately parked in the middle of a highway, he would’ve made it.

I’ve jokingly told friends and strangers that had Kowalski been driving a faster 426 Hemi Charger, he might’ve been able to successfully outrun the police helicopter and cruisers. No one believes this other than me.

I’ve watched both of these movies at least ten times, if not more. I have favorite scenes in each, with the police car in “American Graffiti” having its rear axle chained to a post being a gut-buster where laughing is concerned. When the cops quickly take off after an outlaw group called ‘The Pharaohs,’ they’re in for a surprise.

In “Vanishing Point,” Kowalski stops to pick up a recently married gay couple who’ve encountered car trouble. They quickly push their vehicle into a ditch and climb inside the rumbling white Dodge. The pair then attempts to hijack Kowalski’s car using a gun. A classic line from this scene is, “What are you looking at, Mary?”

The language and some of the frames in the original film have now been edited to make it less offensive. I couldn’t even find a mention of the hijacking on Google, which doesn’t surprise me. A brief nudity scene of a girl riding a motorcycle naked was also axed. I observed much worse in “Forrest Gump.”

The first time I watched this hijacking segment, I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe. A good friend came close to wetting his drawers, and he’s the one admitting such. Thankfully, somewhere in my boxes of packed-up worldly goods are an unedited VHS copy and a DVD of the same. They’re now permanently saved for my kids and grandchildren to someday view.

Vintage Western movies have been treated the same by the WOKE generation, mostly in terms of racist language being cut. If you’ve never watched “Vanishing Point,” make sure to get an unedited copy before you do. They’re readily available on eBay.

I’ve sat through several car movies over the years, but none come remotely close to these two, in my opinion. There’s nothing like a good car movie to get my heart pumping, other than perhaps a large raspberry mocha with two coffee beans on top!

BLESSED

“The question of why some people are blessed while others appear not to be has been asked for generations.”

I’ve often wondered why some people seem to be blessed more than others. Ministers over the years have never fully explained this, as they most likely do not know the complete answer.

I decided to ask my AI helpmate, Miss Purdy, what secular reply she’d offer. Artificial intelligence is programmed, of course, and this programming can be subject to human bias. I’m not always sure which side of the fence Miss Purdy stands on, as she’s not telling.

“The question of why some people are blessed while others appear not to be has been asked for generations. It touches on ideas of luck, destiny, faith, social structures, and personal effort. While there is no single answer, several perspectives can help us examine this complex issue.

This is a profound question that has been contemplated by many throughout history. From a religious perspective, some believe that God’s blessings are part of a divine plan and may not always align with human understanding. They suggest that blessings might be given for reasons beyond our comprehension, or as a result of faith, prayer, or virtuous living.

Others interpret blessings as signs of God’s grace, rather than rewards for specific actions. Ultimately, the reasons why God blesses some and not others remain a mystery, often encouraging individuals to reflect on their own lives, practice gratitude, and seek meaning in both blessings and challenges.” — Miss Purdy

All in all, Miss Purdy didn’t specifically answer my question as I expected. She shucked and jived, not coming to a conclusive viewpoint. Seeing this much, I decided to turn to the Bible once again.

There are several verses regarding this, but I was still somewhat puzzled after reading and not finding the chiseled-in-concrete answer I wanted. It wasn’t until turning to an online Billy Graham site that I came away enlightened. People had evidently asked him the same question, perhaps thousands of times over the years.

“You aren’t the first person to ask this question, nor will you be the last—because sometimes it does look like God blesses people who don’t deserve it. Centuries ago, the prophet Habakkuk complained to God, “Why do you tolerate wrongdoing? … Why are you silent while the wicked swallow up those more righteous than themselves?” (Habakkuk 1:3, 13).

The Bible admittedly doesn’t answer all our questions about God’s ways; only in eternity will we fully understand them. But God’s Word does remind us of three important truths—truths we easily forget. First, it reminds us that wealth is not necessarily a sign of God’s blessing. In fact, some of the unhappiest people I’ve known over the years have been people with great wealth—and yet their lives were empty.

Second, the Bible reminds us that life’s greatest blessings come from knowing Christ and walking with Him every day. A person may be poor as far as this world’s goods are concerned—but rich beyond measure if they know Christ. Jesus said, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled” (Matthew 5:6).

Finally, the Bible reminds us that someday we will all stand before God. On that day, we won’t be asked for the size of our bank account or the importance of our jobs. We’ll only be asked one question: Have you put your faith and trust in Christ alone for your salvation? Don’t be envious of what others have, but make certain of your commitment to Christ.” — Billy Graham

SMOKING

“I missed out on coolness in high school, being a relatively shy type of guy.”

I recently decided to take up smoking. Friends have been smoking for several years now without problem, yet I declined mostly because of the cost. I believe Tom Gildea was the first of the group to light up, and then came Jim Brownfield and Brian Holtrop.

Trying to be cool wasn’t the reason they joined the fray; taste had a lot to do with it. After driving around town and seeing more smokers than nonsmokers, I decided the time was right. Hey, if “cool” is part of the movement, then I desperately wanted in on the action. I missed out on coolness in high school, being a relatively shy type of guy.

Some HOA neighborhoods don’t allow smoking, and thankfully, we don’t live in one of those. I read where a man in Florida was approached by an HOA representative for smoking in his backyard. When he refused to heed the warning, he was fined.

Thankfully, most, if not all, Lake Havasu City neighborhoods do not have such restrictive regulations, at least I hope they don’t. I’ve observed NO SMOKING signs around town, but this pertains to another form of smoking, mostly tobacco-oriented, although I suppose reefer is also frowned upon.

Years ago, a group of tenants in a nearby apartment building were openly smoking crack behind their complex, along with doing other illegal things. Small children were present.

It didn’t take long for local police to get wind of this activity, with the culprits all arrested. It was entertaining seeing these guys and gals hauled away in handcuffs, while on the other hand, there was sadness when child protection entered the scene.

The type of smoking I’m referring to is neither crack, pot, nor tobacco; it’s the smoking of meat and vegetables. These “smokers,” as folks call them, are nothing more than fancy BBQ grills, using wood pellets to create the heat and smoke rather than charcoal briquets.

Prices range from around $350 for an entry-level Pit Boss to over 7K for a commercial-grade Yoder. I wanted a fancy Yoder, but my wife insisted that I take baby steps first. Weight has a lot to do with the model we chose because it will be going with us on camping trips.

The wood pellets for smokers come in many different forms, with hickory, apple, and mesquite being the most popular. I’d like something that has the aroma of a Kentucky moonshine still on a cold January night, with hickory, oak, and maple being suggested by my artificial intelligence helpmate, Miss Purdy. She should know, as I believe the Purdy clan were moonshiners back in the day.

Our smoker was purchased locally, with this being the best way in case problems arise. A special blend of hickory, oak, and maple pellets was specially ordered. I can’t wait to try this thing out, with chicken breasts as the first meat, followed by the three stooges of the vegetable world, carrots, squash, and zucchini.

If things go as planned, and I become an expert smokeologist like my friends Tom, Jim, and Brian, I may very well move up to a Yoder in the coming years. Joleen says that 20 years is more like it. One of the Yoder models has orange paint, mag-style wheels, and inflatable tires, making it look like a hotrod.

What cool guy or gal wouldn’t want one of those babies parked on their patio?

SKULL VALLEY

“The name “Skull Valley” is believed to originate from a battle between local tribes, where skulls were reportedly found in the area.”

Last year, my wife and I visited Skull Valley, Arizona, and we fell in love with the place—especially the mystique. Just the name alone conjures up all kinds of strange images. The late actor, Robert Mitchum, along with his deceased son, James, lived in Skull Valley on their ranch when they weren’t in Hollywood. I suppose the Mitchum family found sanctity there.

I knew more about Harper Valley than I did Skull Valley, thanks to an informative song performed by Jeanie C. Riley in 1968. That tune was labeled, “Harper Valley PTA.” For those younger folks having never heard this recording, it’s well worth listening to.

I’m not sure Harper Valley is in Arizona, but it could be. There’s a Harper Valley Acres located in our state that raises cattle and Red Wattle hogs. I couldn’t find a school listed there, so without question, there’s no Harper Valley Acres PTA.

As I mentioned earlier, I’ve been to Skull Valley, though perhaps only for 30 minutes. Joleen and I stopped long enough to snap pictures of a vintage gas station and a general store. The woman in the store where I bought a Coke was extremely nice.

I hear from friends living in Prescott and Chino Valley that the gas station is now a café and gift shop. Next time through, we’ll check things out. I’d actually like to find a small parcel of property in Skull Valley to park our camper on and spend a few weeks. That’d give me time to really check the place out.

For location, demographic, and historical sake, Skull Valley is a small, unincorporated community and valley located in Yavapai County, Arizona. Known for its rugged beauty and unique name, the area has a rich history shaped by the presence of Native Americans, pioneer settlement, ranching, and railroad development. This document explores the key events and influences that have defined Skull Valley’s past.

Before European settlement, the region now known as Skull Valley was inhabited by Native American tribes, notably the Yavapai and Hualapai. These communities utilized the valley’s resources for hunting, gathering, and traditional practices.

The name “Skull Valley” is believed to originate from a battle between local tribes, where skulls were reportedly found in the area. While the precise details are lost to time, this legend contributed to the valley’s distinctive name.

In the mid-1800s, American pioneers and prospectors began arriving in central Arizona, drawn by the promise of mineral wealth and grazing land. Skull Valley’s location provided fertile ground for agriculture and ranching, and settlers established homesteads throughout the valley. The area’s isolation made it ideal for ranching, and cattle and sheep ranches proliferated in the late 19th century.

The arrival of the railroad in the late 19th century was a turning point for Skull Valley. In 1894, the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railway built a line through the region, establishing a depot that served as a vital link for ranchers, miners, and travelers. The railroad facilitated the transport of goods and livestock, connecting Skull Valley with Prescott and other Arizona communities.

Throughout the 20th century, Skull Valley remained a tight-knit rural community. The Skull Valley School, opened in 1926, became a local landmark, serving generations of children in the area. The community also established a post office in 1877, which remains operational today. Despite its small population, Skull Valley has maintained a sense of identity and continuity over the decades.

Today, Skull Valley is a quiet, scenic region known for its ranches, historic schoolhouse, and tranquil landscapes. It attracts visitors seeking a glimpse of Arizona’s rural heritage and serves as a reminder of the state’s frontier past. While the population remains small, the community’s history is preserved in its landmarks, stories, and enduring traditions.

Skull Valley, Arizona, stands as a testament to the resilience and spirit of rural communities in the American West. Its history, shaped by Native American presence, pioneer ambition, and railroad expansion, continues to influence the character of the valley. As Arizona evolves, Skull Valley remains a unique and storied part of its landscape!